


The Hunter´s story

by SkekLa



Series: A thousand years have passed [4]
Category: The Dark Crystal (1982)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Can a skeksis feel guilt?, Gen, How Could You trope, Hypocrisy, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, putting yourself in another´s shoes, skekMal had a really bad time, skeksis and guilt don´t mix well, skeksis and moral dilemmas don´t mix well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 01:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21420271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkekLa/pseuds/SkekLa
Summary: A small story where skekMal returns with new scars from a mishap hunting session and the rest of the skeksis listen to his retelling of events...
Series: A thousand years have passed [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518779
Kudos: 5





	The Hunter´s story

**Author's Note:**

> Please keep in mind that these fanfictions are meant to take place in an Alternate Universe where certain things might differ from canon. Albeit, this is heavily based off the classic Dark Crystal movie (1982) and some of the canon and characterisations might sound off to anyone who´s not watched the movie (given how certain things were retconned and/or changed by the recent Netflix series)  
All the canon lore and recogniseable characterisations for canon characters within this fic are based off the classic movie and its associated 80´s book lore and/or Legends of the Dark Crystal (2007). *Also referencing Brian Froud´s Creation Myths (2011)concerning the fate of two skeksis right after the splitting*  
The rest of what´s seen at my fanworks is just personal headcanon.

** The Hunter´s story **

* * *

-“And suddenly, that beast was right before me, clawing at my chest and my arms with its scythes! “-  
When the Hunter remarked the most thrilling moment of his story with a violent hit of his fist on the table, all the skeksis who had leant forward to listen raptly at his coarse voice jumped back with a start.  
-“And then? What happened then?!”- demanded the Ornamentalist, wide-eyed and fanning his madeup face with a tremulous hand.  
The Emperor had kept eating with apparent indifference during skekMal’s retelling. His eyes, though, hadn’t stopped darting back and forth between his food bown and the Hunter’s face. Not even His Lordship could have guessed what had to happen to the savage skeksis in black to make him dissapear for several days and return all torn and bloodied, roaring for food and bandages.  
Even though he was just as eager to know as his courtiers were, skekSo remained silent and composed as he listened, in order to preserve his regal dignity.

-“Then...my Arduff hound leapt at it as I was pulling out my knife- he rammed it away from me and fought it! It was MY catch, moreso after it dared attack me- but my hound had only one will: to defend its master! He fought that cursed Karaak and ripped its throat out before I could finish it!”-

There were grunts of approval, whistling noises of admiration, and small squeaks of victory among the concurrence: the skeksis could be an eager audience when such an exciting story was told.  
-“But why didn’t you return immediately to the castle if you were badly wounded...?”-  
asked the Scroll-Keeper, shuddering and readjusting one of his multiple sets of spectacles as he gazed at skekMal’s recently bandaged arms.  
The Hunter looked at him with disbelief, as if skekOk had mad the most stupid question in the world.  
-“Don’t you know ANYTHING, Historian?! “- he growled darkly, pinning the scrawny scholarly skeksis with a piercing glare of his mad, bloodshot eyes- “Kaarak’s scythes are POISONOUS! It had hit me several times, and the effect came down on me swiftly!”-  
-“He’s right! You know NOTHING, you near-sighted runt!” bellowed skekUng with amusement and defiance.  
SkekOk’s head slowly sunk between his shoulders, almost dissapearing into his ruffled collar as he drew instinctively back from both Hunter and Second-general.  
-“That beast cut me here-and here...and here.”- resumed skekMal, punctuating his words by jabbing a taloned index finger at his bandages.  
The Chamberlain gave out a nervous whimper, and some courtiers exchanged jumpy comments at the notion that the Hunter could have been killed during that expedition.  
Why did he have to insist into hunting himself for meat? The meat stock they had from the domesticated nebries at their castle pens were more than enough to feast on!  
Not that they wouldn’t appreciate a choice morsel of some exotic meat now and then, but risking one’s own life just to prove themselves and bring back some meat seemed demential to most of them. Still, his excess of courage fascinated them, and made them feel envious and curious at the same time.

-“But ...how come you’re still alive?”-  
All heads turned to look at skekLach: the Census taker’s thundering voice used to have that effect. The question was truly fair.  
-“How?”... Grunted the Hunter as if he thought every other skeksis had to know as many details on the forest creatures as he did- “I laid down, tied a strong piece of rope over each cut, deepened them with my knife for them to bleed some of it out, and waited. Karaak poison is not deadly: it only weakens prey and makes it sick, pained and fevered. It holds it down for the beast to give chase and finish it, nothing more. If you can stay safe somewhere and wait, it just ebbs away with time.”-  
The Ornamentalist paled violently at the mental image of the Hunter gouging at his own wounded arm with a knife, and had to be propped upwards a little by the Treasurer, who was sitting by his side: it was more of a push to avoid skekEkt from falling onto him than actual help, but it was enough to keep him from fainting.  
-“So...you spent five days whithin the forest, waiting for the poison to disipate?...”- rasped General skekVar, widening his round eyes with disbelief.  
-“What else could I have done?”- shrugged skekMal –“I’ve been at worse situations. Like with that ruffnaw nest trines ago. Or that rabid Vargrst.”-  
The General reclined on his chair, nodding affirmatively with a low grunt of approval. The Hunter was actually right. He had been through hell and back, and some days at the forest-even if posioned and fevered- couldn’t have really taken him down.

-“What about food?”- wondered the Gourmand, suddenly interested. –“You sure can’t have hunted for meat when you felt so sick...”- He promptly stuffed his beak with a pair of Teeka bird legs and some roasted turblaroots right after blurting out his question: the sole idea of being deprived from food made him feel anxious. –“Noone could live without eating for so many days”- he resumed, his voice distorted by the huge (now half- chewed) mouthful.

The Hunter gurgled with dark, joyless laughter.  
-“What do you think I could eat, Gourmand?...the arduff, of course!”-  
-“...Oh...is arduff meat any good?...”- inquired skekAyuk, currently chewing on a chunk of gravy-dipped roast.  
Before the Hunter could reply, a nasal and high pitched voice squawked in protest: _”Hey, that’s not fair!”-  
All the heads turned to look at skekLi. The Satyrist had folded his arms quite defiantly, and stared at skekMal as if he weren’t afraid of him-which all of the court in fact was, or had been sometime.  
-“What?! Why not? The Hound was already wounded and wouldn’t leave my side. It won’t even leave to hunt for food, so I decided to kill it for meat at the third day. Had it understood my orders to go hunt for both of us, I wouldn’t have done it. It was well trained and it was a waste to kill it...but that’s what had to be done!”- shrugged the Hunter, too surprised by the boldness of the Satyrist as to really retort in anger.  
The Satyrist straightened on his chair, and scoffed. –“That is NOT fair! That hound had saved your life, how come you killed it for meat without a flinch?! Not fair, I say.”  
The Hunter bristled under his cloak, hiding a wince of pain from his injured arms as his muscles tensed.  
-“ That is what ANY good hunter would do, Satyrist! Preseve their own life! That’s what I did! Why do you even question it?!”-

Many voices rose praising the Hunter’s resourcefulness and courage, and skekLi frowned, harrumphing and slumping on his seat- still stubbornly fixed on his former statement.  
A long after-dinner came, and the courtiers crammed surrounding the Hunter and bombarding him with questions, since they felt a morbid attraction towards the happening, and wanted to know more sordid details: how had skekMal gotten water, how had he avoided being caught by another predator while he was sick and alone at the forest, how had he managed to stop the bleeding after the poison had trickled away from his wounds...

The first skeksis to leave the Feasting chamber was the Emperor, who had heard enough to feel satisfied in his curiosity and believed he could look as pedestrian and foolish as his court if he’d linger. The Census-Taker eagerly followed him-everyone knew he was quickly becoming skekSo’s favorite- and the Chamberlain tagged behind, bustling between them and already wheedling a proposal to increase the crop tributes they demanded from the gelfling villages.  
The Ritual-Master retired solemnly after a brief moment of silent and frowny observation of the scene, and then- while the Scientist tried to drag skekMal to the Chamber of Life for an application of some experimental healing ointment , the courtiers dispersed toward their personal chambers, all heavy from food and already sleepy.

\- - -

Still annoyed and pondering about the Hunter’s story, the Satyrist pulled out a heavy iron key from his vest’s pocket and jammed it into the lock of his door. It was then when someone cleared their throat to annonce their presence nearby.  
It was the Illustrator. SkekLi mentally shrugged at her presence: she was not usually aggressive and wasn’t someone to worry about unless you had happened to peeve her. He didn’t think he had: besides, whenever skekLa was set to draw a ridiculous parody of anyone to disgrace them, she kept off-sight until it was too late and the insulting portrait had already passed from hand to hand through the entire court. Now she was just standing there, staring at him at plain sight.  
-“Just walk on, already!”- grunted skekLi, gesturing at the Illustrator vehemently .  
-“You have plenty room to pass by, It’s not like I’m skekAyuk!...”  
-“I only wanted to tell you I think the same as you.”-  
The Illustrator’s answer took the Satyrist by surprise, and he just stared back at her quite blankly.  
-“What?”-  
-“About the hound. I don’t think skekMal should’ve killed it.”-  
SkekLi rolled his eyes and studied the sickly white face of the Illustrator in search of any hints of sarcasm.  
-“...If you followed me around just to mock me you’re losing your time: I’m the jester around here, remember?...I’m the one to pull the pranks...”-  
-“I’m serious.”- shrugged skekLa, resuming her walk towards her own habitation which was quite much hallway down. –“I only had thought you’d like to know.”-  
The Satyrist quirked a scaled eyebrow and watched her limp forth, now piqued on his curiosity.  
-“...If you did agree, why didn’t you say anything back there?...”-  
SkekLa turned her head and glared at him.  
-“What for?...Noone’d mind. You know I’m not high-rank: my opinions don’t count much. I just pondered you still would like to know someone thinks the same as you do”-  
Pushing his door open, skekLi nodded at the Illustrator, looking at her from over his shoulder as a twisted smile curved up the corners of his mouth.  
-“Even if that’s the opinion of a weird, effeminate and low-ranked skeksis noone cares about...”-  
SkekLa scoffed and gave a small dark chuckle –“I knew you’d say something like that, you second-hand clown! But yes, even tho. That Arduff had saved skekMal’s hide and remained by his side out of loyalty...I feel like it was wrong from him to kill it. I think he should have tried to feed off something else, somehow.”-  
-“Well: try to go there and tell skekMal he sould have kept that hound "because it loved him", so we can all see how far a skeksis of your size and weight can fly when kicked hard enough on the rear end!...”- laughed skekLi, his usual- needling- humor rekindled.  
Cackling with laughter, skekLa limped on, and dissapeared behind a bend further ahead.

Entering his room and locking the door carefully, the Satyrist smiled with amused self-approval.  
*I knew I wasn’t the only one who disagreed about that!*- he stubbornly thought to himself- *I’d rather starve or eat grass than eating any creature I’ve trained myself, it would be like eating one of my allies!...I’m so going to sing about skekMal being addicted to hound-meat at my next play!...let’s see the face he makes when he hears it, I will laugh last! *

\- - -  
Now laid to sleep her own chamber, the Illustrator couldn’t stop thinking back to the opposed opinions of skekMal and skekLi. She did impulsively agree with the satyrist and knew she had thought the same thing he had voiced: she liked to think she’d never do what the Hunter had. She surely wouldn’t kill a creature she had trained herself...she couldn’t ever dare killing-least of all eating!- it after it had risked its own life to save hers!...  
A pang of misplaced, self-righteous grudge towards the Hunter rushed through the Illustrator, and she rolled on her side to shift into a more comfortable position.

How could he dare killing a creature that had been actually loyal, brave and useful to him? A creature which had even fought for him!...  
After a ruminating moment, the Illustrator´s self rigteousness and anger began to disipate. Her imagination of the Hunter devouring his own hound was gradually getting replaced by a different mental image... skekMal laying down onto the thick undergrowth of the forest; alone, defenseless in spite of his size and abilities...skekMal reduced to a shivering ball pearled with sweat. Lost, sick and pained. Hungry. Thirsty. Terrified for his own life as the poison would beat through his veins, stinging, burning his insides.  
Suddenly, she found it hard to remain spiteful and judgemental.  
What would she TRULY have done, had she been in skekMal’s position?  
Had she been unable to hunt or gather for food...had she been suffering from fever and pain, thirst and hunger, in the middle of some crystal-forsaken woods...wouldn’t she have felt like the choice the Hunter had taken was the only possible one?  
Had the arduff been the only thing she could manage to kill at such situation...would she really have stayed her hand? She suddenly felt- _ KNEW _ that she wouldn´t.  
Life was above all other things and surviving at any cost was the supreme, ultimate goal of every skeksis after all...so- what madness had driven her and the Satyrist to even think they would have acted any different than skekMal had?  
Why had she felt like skekMal was wrong, like his actions had been unfair- in skekLi’s words?...  
Surviving was first, always first.

SkekLa blinked with confusion. She had to seriously rethink her priorities.  
Still—there was something which troubled her, something about loyalty and how it felt strangely wrong to defile it...such a rare thing at the castle, loyalty.  
Such a rare thing, to find any of it anywhere.  
That hound had died for being far too loyal for its own good.  
SkekMal had lived for being able to keep his head cold and choose reason over emotion.

Suddenly, nothing seemed actually righ or wrong to the Illustrator anymore-but just a bunch of things. Quite-shocking things that just happened the way they did.  
* * * 

The dawn broke and painted the sky with intense reds and yellows, finding the Illustrator still awake. She hadn’t managed to sleep.  
In a vain attempt to make something amusing out of her insomnia, skekLa had gotten up from bed and had spent the night drawing.  
She ended up sketching a coloured portrait which showed a theatening, wild Karaak bristling before skekMal, threatening with its secondary pair of arms ended in murderous poison-dripping scythes. The Hunter appeared bold and rather dignified, facing the beast with a long knife, his pose an impecable fighting stance.  
Right next to him, the arduff hound growled baring its teeth and pounced at the predator that dared to attack its master.

Huffing and wiping her sweaty brow after the last coloured ink stroke, skekLa felt a little less troubled at the sight of the finished artwork.  
Even though she knew a drawing cahnged nothing, there was something about having drawn both- hound and master- fighting the beast together that settled her anxiety and soothed her diverging feelings and thoughts concerning the event.  
Perhaps, freezing that moment when things were still alright was the best she could do to reconcile her misplaced feelings with her reason- she pondered, while checking the portrait in search for any imperfections to fix.

Later, during second-sun, that drawing appeared on the Hunter’s personal chamber: it was suddenly slid down his alcove´s door for him to find.  
The Illustrator could never quite say why she had done that: her artwork was not something she’d carelessly give away.  
Still, that one time, it had somehow seemed to be the right thing to do.

**Author's Note:**

> ****Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, all Dark Crystal canon characters and events etc. are the property of their respective owners (Brian Froud, Jim Henson and everyone who worked in the making of the Dark Crystal). The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author (SkekLa) is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.****


End file.
